


Sex in Society

by mydogwatson



Series: Postcard Tales II [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Marriage, Pining Sherlock, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7410409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The meaning of sex.  Or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex in Society

**Author's Note:**

> This was a nice break for me from the WTF of setlock…
> 
> I continue to love and cherish every comment and kudo. Thank you.

John Watson had sex for the first time, in an ancient Mini, when he was sixteen, which he felt was a bit later than absolutely necessary, so when the opportunity arose, he was pretty much on board with the idea.

He’d had three ciders at the party and did not feel up to driving, so they were still parked on the street two houses down from where the football squad was celebrating their championship. John was the star of the evening, because of his entirely brilliant over-the-head goal. As a consequence, he pretty much had his pick of the girls at the party.

No question, really, since he had been drooling over, well, her name was lost in the mists of time, but he still remembered her cascade of dark curls and tight jumper, for months. 

So, he’d had one more cider than was usual and she was wearing tights. Not to forget that the entire enterprise was happening in a Mini. 

All in all, it went about as well as could have been expected.

It was rather surprising to John that he could not wait to do it again. Although maybe when he was a little more sober and there were no tights involved.

And a bigger car would be nice, too.

*

Sherlock Holmes almost had sex for the first time when he was at uni. It [almost] happened in a dark alleyway not terribly far from the Bridge of Sighs. The alley stank of garbage and piss. Sherlock ended up on his knees in a puddle left from the recent rain and he could feel the water soaking through the knees of his grey flannel trousers.

He slowly tugged down the zip of his dealer’s blue jeans, reached inside, and touched his cock. Sherlock tried to think only about the coke he would get in return and not about what he was about to do.

It was all Mycroft’s fault anyway. He was the one who had convinced Mummy to cut off Sherlock’s allowance. The pompous bastard.

As the anger coursed through him, he roughly pulled the other man’s cock out. His mouth hovered just above it. Sherlock blinked.

The dealer grunted and thrust.

And Sherlock knew that he could not do it.

He dropped his hold on the cock and stood. “Never mind,” he mumbled.

The dealer was not happy and he let Sherlock know it, still yelling at him, even as Sherlock left the darkness and headed back to his residence hall. He could bum a joint and that would get him through the night.

The next day he went to the house in London and snuck in while Mummy was at a UCL lecture. He went into Mycroft’s old room and took the money his brother always kept under a floorboard in the wardrobe.

Then he went back to Cambridge and looked for a new dealer.

*

If there was anyplace in the world worse to have sex than in a Mini, John felt that it had to be on the sand behind the mess tent in Afghanistan. It was very late or very early, depending upon how you wanted to look at it, and he had just failed to save the life of a young local boy who had been caught in an IED blast.

He had gone behind the tent to vent by beating his fist into the sand and curse. Not very productive, really, but the best he could manage at the moment.

So a short time later, the nurse….Dani? Donna?...something…came out and they talked briefly, which somehow led to her giving him a blowjob. In return, he just used his fingers and she seemed happy enough. There was a little too much sand involved to suit John, but he only smiled and said thank you.

Then he went to his cot and slept for ten hours.

*

The rituals of courtship remained a mystery to Sherlock and that was how he justified following John on some of his ridiculous dates. Maybe if he could understand exactly why his flatmate insisted on going out with one vapid female after the other, he could then…well, in all honesty, the next step was rather vague. But he was brilliant, so no doubt something would occur. This night he had followed John and the woman to a sidewalk café and stood in the shadows to watch.

The meal seemed interminable. She laughed far too much at everything Charming John said. Sherlock hated Charming John. Not a single one of the women ever seemed to realise that Charming John was a complete lie.

That was not his John. Which did sometimes make Sherlock feel a bit better.

He followed them to her flat, watched them go in, watched the lights come on and then go off again.

Sherlock went home, lay on his bed, and touched himself until he climaxed. As usual, it was quick, efficient, and essentially meaningless.

Then he showered, donning his t-shirt, pyjama trousers, and second best dressing gown, before going back into the kitchen. He sat at the microscope to look at some more dirt samples.

He was still there when John came in and made tea for them both.

*

For a sex holiday, there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of sex going on. Jetlag played a part, of course, as well as just exhaustion from the whole wedding thing. She played the pregnancy card and he got badly sunburned.

Not to mention that the drinks served in the hotel bar were very potent.

Mary spent a lot of time sitting under a beach umbrella looking at her phone. When he asked about it, she laughed and said all her girlfriends wanted to know how married life was treating her.

Frankly, he didn’t think she had that many real friends and most of them hated her, according to Sherlock. But never mind.

Speaking of, he sent a few texts to his [former] flatmate, just for the hell of it, but none of them were responded to, which was a bit worrying. Because, after all, the git could get himself into all kinds of trouble very quickly.

So was it usual for married life to get boring so quickly?

On their last night at the hotel, Mary reached for him and they made love. He supposed it was very romantic, with the curtain opened to show the silver moon shining on the calm water of the bay and with the faint sound of the calypso band rising from the beach bar.

He fell asleep quickly after they had finished and dreamt of the battlefield and of chasing Sherlock through the streets of London.

*

It was very early when Sherlock awoke. He just lay there for a time, enjoying the warmth of the bed, and then decided that tea would be appropriate.

He slipped out of the bed without waking John, which was not difficult after twenty years of doing so. Exactly twenty years, in fact.

He let Gladstone out into the garden before putting the kettle on and deciding to make toast. It was not long before the dog had been fed, the tea prepared and the toast spread with honey. Sherlock left Gladstone with a chew bone and walked back into the bedroom, carrying the loaded tray carefully.

John had awakened after all and was propped against the headboard, rumpled and smiling. “Oh, it must be a special day if I am getting breakfast in bed,” he said cheerfully.

Sherlock only huffed in reply.

They sat in the middle of the bed to eat the toast and drink the tea. Crumbs and stickiness were inevitable in the circumstance, but neither of them minded as they set the tray aside and pulled off pyjamas quickly.

“Happy anniversary,” John whispered, just before licking his way down Sherlock’s still-lean body.

They made slow and careful love in the morning sunlight; everything was familiar but never routine. Later, they would wash and dress and take the dog for a long walk. Sherlock would check on his bees and John would answer their email, deciding if any of the cases on offer were worth a trip to London. Mycroft had sent his usual cake, so they would have an early tea and toast him with Earl Grey.

Later still, they would watch some telly and, still full from too much cake, have only some cheese and crackers for dinner. After toasting one another with a little port, they would come back to this bed and, following a day of foreplay, make love again.

Belatedly, John would remember that he had intended to change the bedding after their toast and honey earlier. Sherlock would mutter that it didn’t matter and pull John to him so that they could sleep wrapped together.

**Author's Note:**

> Title From: Sex in Society by Alex Comfort


End file.
